Ostensibly he had no business at Lac Bain, but was merely on a vacation,
and wished to see a bit of real life in the wilderness.

Breed's grizzled face was miserable.

"Why don't they send 'em down to York Factory or Nelson House?" he
demanded of Steele. "They've got duck feathers, three women, and a
civilized factor at the Nelson, and there ain't any of 'em here--not
even a woman!"

Steele shrugged his shoulders as Breed mentioned the three women at
Nelson.

"There are only two women there now," he replied. "Since a certain Bucky
Nome passed that way, one of them has gone into the South."

"Well, two, then," said Breed, who had not caught the flash of fire in
the other's eyes. "But I tell you there ain't a one here, Steele, not
even an Indian--and that dirty Cree, Jack, is doing the cooking. Blessed
Saints, I caught him mixing biscuit dough in the wash basin the other
day, and I've been eating those biscuits ever since our people went out
to their traplines! There's you, and Nome, two Crees, a 'half' and
myself--and that's every soul there'll be at Lac Bain until the
mid-winter run of fur. Now, what in Heaven's name is the poor old Mrs.
Colonel going to do?"

"Got a bed for her?"

"A bunk--hard as nails!"